by C. Gockel
Staring at her chest he licks his lips. “Hmmmmm?”
Amy looks down, realizing that she’s giving him a rather dramatic view of her cleavage. Face going hot with embarrassment and annoyance, she sits up. And Bryant is worried she’s got a crush on him.
He shrugs and smiles without a trace of embarrassment as she glares at him and returns to fishing out her list.
An ‘amuse bouche’ of what looks like a foamy pink marshmallow on a graham cracker crumb with a single green chive atop arrives along with the first wine course. At just that moment she finds her list and pulls it out with a triumphant smile.
Loki snorts and picks up his wine.
“Hey, I want to get it over with.” She puts her notes down on the table next to the pink marshmallow thingy. “Okay, the guys wanna know how creatures like trolls, which aren’t the sharpest tacks in the box, can world walk when it takes extra effort on your part, and the Vanir, elves, etc.”
Loki shrugs. “Birds don’t understand aeronautics, but they fly.” He takes a sip of his wine.
Amy makes a note and looks up to see him staring with wide eyes at the glass. And then he downs the whole thing in a single swallow and groans in a way that is slightly obscene.
Amy looks around. No one seems to have noticed. Looking down at her notes she continues. “So the whole invisibility thing — I’m guessing that is utilizing the theory of quantum entanglement...you know two photons being in two places at once.”
“Is that what you’re teaching Fenrir?” says Loki with a grin and a wink. He picks up his little pink marshmallow chive thingy and pops it in his mouth.
He didn’t say no. Excited, Amy sits up in her chair. “Am I right?”
But Loki’s eyes are focused somewhere beyond her shoulder. They’re very wide and he’s chewing very slowly. Swallowing audibly, he pushes away the plate in front of him and then bangs his head on the table. Nose smashed against the tablecloth he sighs. “I think I just orgasmed in my mouth.”
“But am I right about quantum entanglement?” says Amy.
Loki lifts his head just enough that he can glare at her. “By the Norns, woman! There is magic right in front of you. Eat! Or I’ll eat it for you.”
Amy narrows her eyes at him.
He narrows his eyes right back.
“Okay.” She puts aside her list and takes a bite. Whatever it is melts on her tongue like cotton candy but it is savory and salmony and not sweet, except for the tiny bit of crispiness at the bottom. Her eyes go wide.
Loki sighs across from her. “Marshmallow of smoked salmon and cream cheese on carmelized rye crisp. Take a sip of your wine now.”
Amy does. It’s a dry white with a little kick that balances the salmon thingy perfectly.
She sets down her glass. “Wow. Well. I don’t know that much about mouth orgasms but —” She stops. Loki is sitting up in his chair, eyes wide, a smirk on his face.
Why is he...?
Oh.
She flushes from head to toe.
“Of course you don’t,” he says. Grabbing her wine he tilts his chair back and cackles maniacally.
Amy glares at him and hopes he tilts back too far. “You’re perverted,” she mumbles.
Smirking, he drains her wine and leans forward. “No, that is not perverted. Sex with three dwarves at one time so that you can have a pretty bauble — that is perverted.”
Amy recognizes the reference and knows which goddess’ antics he’s referring to. But opening her eyes as wide and as innocently as she can, she says, “You did that?”
Nostrils flaring, he sits up straight. “No! Freyja, the so called Goddess of Love and Beauty, did that —”
Amy bites her lip to keep from laughing, and his lips purse.
Looking to the side, he says. “Well played.” When he meets her eyes again it looks like he’s fighting a smile. She can’t help it; she sticks out her tongue.
He smiles and rolls his eyes. “And no matter what anyone says, I did not use my silver tongue to convince her to —”
His voice drifts off and his gaze drifts just over her shoulder. There is the sound of a large party coming in.
Amy turns around and sees a girl in a wheelchair. It's not the standard variety operate-it-with- your-arms-go-ahead-you-can-wheel-marathons wheelchair. It's a heavy-duty, electric machine. It has headrests at the top to hold the girl upright, and it's deeply padded. The girl's sitting oddly, slumping to the side. Her arms are curled upwards. Behind her is a man who looks like he's probably her father, and two sets of what looks like grandparents. Everyone is smiling.
The waiters smile, too. "Happy Sweet 16, Abby!" they say, and Amy feels her heart fall a little. The little girl Abby is so small she looks like she can't be more than 12.
Abby smiles back. Despite the gauntness of her face, it's a lovely smile. And then she laughs a little bit. Some spittle flies from her mouth, and she mouths a garbled, "Shanx you."
Behind her, Amy hears a disapproving sound from one of the businessmen.
She looks back at Loki. He's looking at the businessmen at the table behind her. His face is so emotionless it’s frightening.
She's read myths about Loki's daughter Helen. The myths called her Hel. She was half alive and half dead in the stories, and banished to Nilfheim to rule over the dead. Loki told her Helen died, and her mother Anganboða...
She hears the businessman behind her summon the waiter and ask to be moved. Loki's eyes narrow as the man and his partner are ushered to another room.
Swallowing, Amy says softly, "Well. Now they won't ruin Abby's sweet sixteen."
Blinking as though he just realized Amy is there, he says, "Of course." His voice is inflectionless and impersonal.
Amy takes a breath. “I’d...I’d...like to smack that guy upside the head...but...don’t...” She can’t finish. The lack of emotion on Loki’s face...the hardness in his eyes at the moment is terrifying.
“Don’t worry. I won't ruin Abby's day either," he says as the first course arrives. Loki listens to the waiter, eats his and the remainder of Amy’s in silence.
Amy tries to pick up the conversation. She’s discovered some great stories, modern and ancient where Loki is the good guy. There is a short story called “Thor Meets Captain America” by David Brin where Loki saves the world from the Nazis. And another tale where Loki saved a little boy from a giant. But all Loki does is offer non-committal grunts. She realizes he is engrossed in the conversation going on at Abby's table. Amy hears snippets of, "And your second year of high school," and "we're so proud of you" and exclamations to the waiters of, "she's wanted to eat here for the longest time!"
It's difficult to understand Abby. Her words are drawn out and strange. Sometimes she grunts. But her father and mother seem to understand her. They translate for the rest of the table. Amy glances behind her and notice they help her eat, too.
Loki’s eyes flick to everyone around them. He looks suspiciously at the waitstaff and incoming patrons, like he’s expecting something from them and is prepared to lash out at any moment. And then abruptly at course 9 or 10 he says, “Amy, I’m full. I’m going to ask for the check.”
She knows he’s lying but doesn’t disagree.
As soon as he’s paid, Loki practically leaps from his chair. Face hard, he walks ahead of Amy towards the stairs. Which is odd. Normally he plays the gentleman — aside from the leering at her boobs.
And then it happens. Abby is laughing and a small bit of spittle flies from her mouth to Loki's perfect suit. He stops. Her table goes completely quiet. The smiles drop from her family's faces.
Amy can imagine what they're seeing. The cold businessman in the perfectly tailored suit looking down where the spittle landed - after someone else asked to be excused from the room. Amy sees Abby's grandmother swallow.
Loki suddenly flashes an absolutely disarming, dazzling smile. Holding up one hand he says to the room at large. "Look, nothing here!" Turning his hand around and holding up the other
he says, "And nothing here!"
He puts both of his hands together, rubs, and then opens them as though he's about to catch a ball. Out fly dozens and dozens of butterflies. They're obviously illusions - they glow, and pass through objects, but they're beautiful, casting flickering lights through the room.
Abby and her family start to laugh. There's cries of "That's amazing." Waiters stop and stare and then begin to clap. Hearing murmurs of appreciation, Amy turns and sees other patrons crowding in the doorway of the room. People cheer and try to get the dancing mirages to land on their fingers.
Crouching down so he's at the level of Abby's face, Loki smiles brightly. "Happy Sweet Sixteen, Abby."
Abby smiles and grunts, and Loki just smiles wider and pulls a giant pink butterfly out of her hair.
There's a joint murmur of "Awwwww..." from everyone.
"I must go," he whispers to Abby. And then standing, he leaves the room a little too quickly. Amy just barely catches a look of strain upon his face.
She stands motionless, transfixed, in the swarm of swirling, glowing butterflies as people continue to murmur in wonder.
Forget worrying about developing a crush on Loki. She thinks she might have just fallen in love.
x x x x
It is early afternoon on Wōdnesdæg, Odin’s Day, the first day of the week. Loki is walking down the long path in the royal gardens that lead home, passing a few lovers, friends in conversation, and children at play as he does. They don’t acknowledge him; he doesn’t particularly care.
It is customary for Odin’s Day to be a day of rest for Asgardians. But Odin and the Diar, the twelve judges assigned the task of helping Odin rule Asgard, were working on the final wording of a new treaty with the dwarves. They’ve been working on it nearly nonstop for the past month. Loki had been forced to be present the whole time, as he is, even in the words of his enemies, exceptional at finding loopholes.
He really should have told them the wording of the treaty was fine. Then he could have had the day off. But Loki has difficulty not pointing out the shoddiness of other people’s thinking.
Now the sun is beginning its downward decline as he passes through the last copse of trees, turns a bend, and Anganboða Hall comes into view. Originally designed as a hideaway for Odin’s mortal lovers, it isn’t particularly large. When Loki won it in a wager with Odin, it had only a rather ostentatious boudoir, enormous bathing area, small kitchen and a few small servants’ quarters. It had been in horrible disrepair — Frigga had been cracking down on Odin’s trysts on Asgardian soil at the time.
Anganboða had occupied most of the early part of their marriage in restoring the place, procuring and placing magic rocks for the hot water heater, knocking down walls between the tiny, narrow, prison-like spaces that were supposed to be sleeping cells for servants they didn’t have, managing the dwarven contractors fixing the plumbing, and painting the interior with her own hands.
On the outside it wears the same architectural style that is the fashion right now. It looks like an Alfheim country cottage, with walls of white gray stucco between beams of rough hewn logs beneath a curvy roof. Loki’s not a fan of the current look. He thinks it resembles a small cluster of mushrooms. But it’s theirs. Or Aggie’s, ever since that unfortunate gambling incident.
As he approaches the home, Fenrir comes loping round the corner. Loki gives the wolf a scratch behind the ears and then walks up the steps illusioned to look like they are made out of living rock covered with green moss. He lets himself in the heavy, round wooden door, an illusion of a tree’s cross section.
His wife isn’t at the door to meet him. Nor does she call his name. She has been tired of late. Before this business of the treaty with the dwarves Loki had gone to Jotunheim with Thor to reclaim Thor’s hammer. He was away several weeks. He thinks it’s reasonable after such a long absence that Aggie might be tired....and yet...he’s been home over a month. She shouldn’t be sick; she does have rights to one of Idunn’s apples every year.
Tilting his head, he shuts the door and says softly. “Anganboða?”
Helen will be napping at this time, and he doesn’t want to wake her.
Aggie doesn’t answer. Loki wonders if she’s asleep. He walks down the hallway and enters their room. Aggie sits up quickly on their bed. Her cheeks are streaked with tears, her eyes are red.
“Oh,” she says. “You’re home.” Smoothing her dress, she drops her gaze to the floor. “Would you like some tea — or some mead?”
Loki tilts his head. “Has something happened, Aggie?” His voice comes out sharper than he means it to.
She drops her eyes to her hands. “Not really. Nothing unusual.”
“Aggie...” He swallows. He hates...these things, but he has to fix this. “You’re alone out here too often. Odin has kept me so busy.”
Her friend Sigyn comes as frequently as she can, but she is a lady in waiting to Frigga and is often busy. Odin has also allowed her cousin Gullveig to visit a few times But Gullveig is a powerful sorceress, a chieftess in Jotunheim’s Ironwood, and apparently threatening to the All Father. Odin finds reasons to deny Gullveig admittance to Asgard...and Loki finds it uncomfortable to have her under his roof. Gullveig looks so much like Aggie they could be sisters, but she radiates power. Loki finds the yoke of fidelity even more difficult when she’s about.
Loki lets out a tense breath. “You know, we have money now...” He’s been too busy to gamble, so instead of feast or famine Aggie’s been able to keep the household purse at a little more than full enough. “Why don’t you hire a servant?”
Aggie bites her lip and begins to laugh, or sob, Loki’s not sure which. “Oh, haven’t you heard, Husband? I’m a witch and a troll woman, mother of monsters...” She turns her eyes to him. “No one will work for me.”
“No one?” says Loki dumbly.
“I have tried,” says Aggie, looking away again, her face empty.
And suddenly he can imagine it. He’s heard Baldur say she is obviously ‘touched’ — why else would she wed Loki — and see how he’s cursed her with his cursed spawn? He’s heard the ladies whisper how ‘unfortunate’ her situation is; but didn’t she deserve it, not letting the little one go? He’s heard the men about the court say Loki himself is bewitched by Anganboða; why else would he keep a woman who has borne him nothing but trouble? No matter how bad it is for Loki, it’s worse for Anganboða, because it is the woman’s soft heart that is ‘always’ responsible for babies like Helen not being ‘taken care of’.
Loki goes and sits on the bed next to her. He pulls an illusion of a flower out of her nose. She stares at it but doesn’t even smile. “Aggie,” he whispers, kissing her forehead. “We’ll take care of this.”
He puts his hand on her back, strokes the line of her spine through her dress. He feels like she is slipping away from him, but to where he can’t imagine. It makes him want her more. Leaning in, he kisses the shell of her ear. And then Helen begins to cry.
He pulls away. He and Aggie both let out a breath. It’s been too long.
Aggie closes her eyes. “Loki, I can’t take her out today...” She swallows.
At three Helen can’t walk or even crawl. She can only drag herself along on the floor. Aggie says she speaks and understands many words, but what comes out of her mouth is mostly garbled to Loki’s ears. Besides finger food, she is incapable of feeding herself.
Nonetheless, Loki insists that he or Aggie take her out at least once a day. He will not be ashamed of his daughter, and he won’t let anyone dare think he is. It is, of course, argr for a father to be out for a stroll with a child so young alone, especially a little girl. But when has he ever been one to let being argr bother him?
“Of course,” he says. He wants to kiss her forehead, but Helen’s cry becomes a wail. Standing up, he whispers, “I will think of something, Aggie...”
Helen’s wail rises and Fenrir whines. Loki hurries down the hall.
Whatever Helen’s physical limit
ations, her mind is sharp. It is a blessing and a curse. She is easily bored, and just because her body is weak doesn’t mean she will lie passively in a chair or bed all day — if neglected too long she will rage. Taking her outside every morning and afternoon feeds her mind and relaxes her.
Helen has a wheeled-chair built by Uncle Hoenir that Aggie uses to push her about. But Loki carries her. He likes the weight of his one beautiful creation in his arms. It reassures him that she is real. As they walk through the forest, Helen clings to his cloak with her good arm, and with her spindly blue arm she points to birds, animals and insects that even Loki doesn’t notice.
The gardens are filled with plants and animals from all the realms, and quite a few from Hoenir’s imagination. There was even a unicorn for a while, that Helen and the other children adored. But after it gored a member of Odin’s elite Einherjar guard, Hoenir had coaxed it to leave. Still, there is plenty left to keep Helen entertained.
Something nags at Loki, and at one point he tries to go back. Helen bounces in his grip, presses her face to his shoulder, whines her displeasure, pointing down the trail where she wants to go. Loki might have ignored her, but at that moment, some young warriors walking through the gardens look askance at Helen and that eggs him forward.
They are quite a ways from home when Sigyn emerges on the path, a blanket and a basket on her arm.
“Loki?” she says. “Where is Aggie?”
“Resting,” says Loki tersely. Sigyn may be Aggie’s friend, but Loki doesn’t feel comfortable confiding in her.
Sigyn’s brow furrows, but she says, “I brought a blanket. We can put it in the grass. Helen will like it. There are tiny violets just blooming; if you get down on the ground you can see them."
At her words Helen starts rocking in Loki’s arm, and that settles it. They spread out on the blanket, Helen in the middle. Loki makes the violets appear to sing and dance, much to Helen’s amusement. Some ladies pass, whispering, and Loki’s eyes meet Sigyn’s. It suddenly occurs to Loki that he’s just given one more thing for the gossips to wag their tongues about. The court will have declared Sigyn Loki’s mistress by the end of the day.